


And my Feelings for you, they Bloom

by IetjeSiobhan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, F/F, Fluff, Mention of Saemiwalisa, Pining, Yachi Hitoka is a Disaster Lesbian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29939322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IetjeSiobhan/pseuds/IetjeSiobhan
Summary: Hitoka has seen a lot of gorgeous women in her life, but nobody has ever come close to the absolutegoddesswho is standing in the small flower shop right now.A Fic for the Haikyuu WLW Bang.
Relationships: Background Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, Minor Background Aone Takanobu/Futakuchi Kenji, Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44
Collections: Haikyuu WLW Bang





	And my Feelings for you, they Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> This is my work for the Haikyuu WLW Bang.  
> I had so much fun writing this fic, and I can't believe this was my first time writing Kiyoyachi; I'll definitely write more Kiyoyachi fic in the future, I love them _so much_.
> 
> Beta-ed by the amazing [Aya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_kiyoomi)! Thank you so much, Aya <3
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not financially profit from this work. The characters do not belong to me, I merely borrowed them.

Hitoka, quite honestly, starts working at the flower shop on a whim.

It’s certainly not what her mother envisioned for her to be doing after school: her mother always thought Hitoka would go to university, study something like law or business or maybe computer science, and start her own big firm afterwards, much like her mother had done. And at first, she adheres to these expectations her mother has of her; she finishes school with very good grades and gets into a prestigious university’s business course, continuing to get good grades there. And it’s fine, it works, she’s performing the way her mother wants her to, the way she expects of herself, and she even finds—well, not friends, but acquaintances.

But it’s not—it’s not her. It doesn’t make her happy.

And so, when she sees the little flyer taped to _Bloom_ ’s window—the flower shop that is on the same street as the local animal shelter she sometimes visits, even though said animal shelter just reminds her that her flat doesn’t allow any pets—she takes a picture of it on a whim.

_Looking for new full-time employee_ , it says on the flyer, in pretty, cursive handwriting, and Hitoka agonizes over it for an entire week before she ends up calling the phone number, trembling all the while.

One week later, she has her first shift and drops out of university.

Working at the flower shop feels so much more _right_ and liberating than anything has ever done in her entire life up to that point. She loves working with flowers, learning more about them; and even though it’s terrifying to talk to customers, most of them are really nice and they don’t expect much more from her than knowing about the flowers, being able to make them a pretty bouquet, and being capable of ringing their purchases up. The shop also has quite a few really nice regulars that keep coming back on a weekly basis, most of them have frequented _Bloom_ since Aone started it.

Aone Takanobu is the owner of the shop; he’s a big, burly guy with a serious looking face, and Hitoka is not too shy to admit that the first time she saw him, she nearly fainted. He’s also an absolute sweetheart and has quite honestly quickly become one of her favourite people. He is, however, not too good with customers; he doesn’t really like talking a lot, and he comes off as quite intimidating. He prefers plants to most humans, anyway; and so he mostly stays in the back, taking care of the plants, making new flower arrangements.

The other two employees are Yahaba Shigeru and Tanaka Saeko. Yahaba is a university student and usually picks up a few Afternoon shifts in the week as well as the Saturday shifts. Hitoka likes him, even though she sometimes thinks he lives only to tease her about things. Yahaba is a polite, nice guy—except for when he’s not, which is only when Aone isn’t around. Yahaba wouldn’t be caught dead teasing her in front of Aone, which is a small mercy.

Hitoka thinks he primarily teases her because she once caught him having a full-blown gay breakdown over Kyoutani, the angry-looking guy with the dyed blonde hair who works at the animal shelter down the street, and he needs to even the playing field somehow.

Tanaka Saeko (“call me Saeko!”), the other employee of _Bloom_ , is—a whirlwind, honestly. She’s loud and brash and very energetic, and Hitoka is still a little intimidated by her, although she does like Saeko a lot. Saeko handles their flower deliveries, so she’s the employee who spends the least amount of time in the flower shop, and Hitoka thinks it’s better that way, probably. Every time Saeko enters the shop, her loud voice _booming_ , Hitoka starts panicking about her knocking the carefully arranged flowers over. It hasn’t happened yet, but Hitoka is sure it’s only a matter of time.

All in all, even though Saeko is intimidating and Yahaba can be aggravating sometimes, and even though Hitoka usually mans the front of the shop on her own on most days, which is a little bit terrifying, she loves working at the flower shop; loves it, despite her mother’s insistence during every phone call that Hitoka should go back to university, that this is a horrible idea; loves it, despite the fact it’s certainly not a job that pays well.

She hasn’t regretted dropping out of university to become a full-time employee at a flower shop, of all things, even once. Of all the decisions she’s ever made in her life, this is the first one she has made completely by herself, and this also feels like the _best_ decision she has ever made.

\--

Hitoka meets Shimizu on a Wednesday.

It’s afternoon, around four pm, and she is, once again, behind the counter, waiting for customers to come in. Yahaba isn’t working today, Saeko is out on deliveries, and Aone is in the back, as usual, so it’s only her in the front of the shop.

She’s just lounging around, looking at the flowers, painted by the afternoon light in a soft golden hue, when the bell over the shop door tinkles, announcing a customer. Hitoka looks away from the yellow roses she was resting her eyes on and towards the door, and then feels her brain short-circuit.

In the door is standing the most beautiful woman she has ever seen in her life.

Hitoka has seen a lot of gorgeous women in her life—she’s seen Saeko’s two girlfriends on several occasions, and one of them is a literal model—but nobody has ever come close to the absolute _goddess_ who is standing in the small flower shop right now.

She has long, black hair that falls over her shoulders like a waterfall, framing a beautiful, feminine face. Her eyes look like they’re made of molten silver, and her lashes are long and delicately curled. Thin glasses sit on top of a small nose, giving her an air of intellectuality.

Hitoka feels like falling to her knees and praying at the altar of this woman.

Instead of giving in to the instinct, she stutters out a, “Welcome to _Bloom_! Let me know if I can help you!”

The woman smiles at her, a small, beautiful thing that spreads warmth all throughout Hitoka’s body.

“For now I’m just looking,” she says, her voice quiet and a little shy and just as beautiful as her. Hitoka wants to get lost in it, wants to get lost in _her_.

“Of course, take your time,” she answers, her own voice still shaking a little bit.

Hitoka isn’t all that good with strangers, but she has certainly gotten better at handling interacting with them in the time she’s worked at _Bloom_. Talking to people on a daily basis improves your social skills quite rapidly. Although she does still blush and falter a lot, she hasn’t stuttered out of nervosity in quite some time. This woman though, this goddess, brings all of Hitoka’s nervousness out at once.

Still: as the lesbian that she is she doesn’t think she can be held accountable for her brain-functions shutting down a little at the sight of someone so breathtaking.

She wants to know what this woman’s name is, wants to know who exactly she is, what she does with her life, where her interests lay, all her favourite books and movies, her happiest memory, the last time she truly cried, her plans for the future—how she likes her breakfast made in the morning, and if she’d let Hitoka make it for her.

Hitoka is still staring at her, lost in the golden light catching on her beautiful, shiny hair, when the woman comes up to the counter, a small flower arrangement in hand.

That close, Hitoka can take the details of her in a little better: the way the pink sweatshirt she’s wearing swallows her frame a little bit, and the animal hairs sprinkled all over said sweatshirt—dog or cat hair, maybe.

Hitoka wants to ask her about that, wants to ask her if she owns a pet—if she’d let Hitoka meet her pet, if her pet is, perhaps, looking for a second mother.

Instead, she somehow gets herself together and stutters out, “Oh! Nice choice. Anything else, or will that be all?”

“That’s all,” the woman says, her voice once again catching Hitoka off-guard with how soft it is. There’s a slight blush on the woman’s face, shyness, probably, and Hitoka positively melts.

She can’t believe someone like this, someone so breathtakingly perfect, actually exists.

The woman pays with cash, much to Hitoka’s dismay—still no name to go with the face—and then walks out of the flower shop, flowers in hand.

Hitoka stares at her, watches her leave, too enchanted to do much else.

She’s still staring when Aone comes to the front, asking if Saeko has returned yet, a good fifteen minutes later.

\--

Because Aone is a sweetheart, he listens to Hitoka talk about the woman for half an hour, even though she repeats herself a lot. Mostly, she’s dismayed because she has no idea as to the identity of this goddess, and even less of a clue if she’ll ever see her again. She hopes she’s going to see her again; she wants a do-over, wants a chance to make a good second impression, to find out more about her—if she’s single and into women, into small anxious blonde ones, by any chance—and also simply to look at her more.

Aone doesn’t interrupt her once, just listens to her and nods at her encouragingly and softly puts his big, strong hand on her shoulder.

Hitoka is beyond thankful for having met him.

If she hadn’t, she’d probably be overworked in some accounting firm by now. The thought makes her shudder.

\--

Yahaba works with her on the afternoon shift of the following day.

He comes in in a whirl of gay panic, as he often does.

“Kyoutani?” Hitoka asks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yahaba says and makes his way into the backroom to greet Aone.

Five minutes later he comes back out to the front and collapses onto the counter. “He always looks so growly but I bet he’s a really sweet guy beneath all that,” he moans.

“You went to the shelter again?”

“I didn’t plan to, but I just … it’s right on the way from the train station,” Yahaba says miserably. “If they didn’t want me to come in regularly, they shouldn’t have placed it like that.”

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Hitoka asks—reasonably, she thinks.

“I can’t just ask him out! He can’t stand me! He’s never once smiled at me!” Yahaba hisses.

“To be fair, you’ve never once smiled at him,” Hitoka points out.

“That’s different!”

“It is?”

“Obviously you wouldn’t understand,” Yahaba says. “You haven’t had a crush in ages.”

Hitoka thinks about the woman from the day prior and can’t help but blush. Yahaba looks at her like a shark that’s smelled blood.

“Ohooo,” he says. “You have a crush?”

“Can we talk about the fact that you just admitted you have a crush on Kyoutani?” Hitoka asks, a little desperately.

“Lies and falsifications,” Yahaba says. “I never once admitted such a thing. You however—tell me, who is it? Is it someone I know?” There’s an unsettling smirk on his face. If only Aone knew the horrors that lurk beneath Yahaba’s polite façade, Hitoka thinks.

“No,” she says.

“Details, Yachi-san, _details_ ,” Yahaba trillers.

“Uhm—” Hitoka is frantically looking for a way out of the conversation when she’s saved by a customer entering the store, an older lady, one of the regulars. She usually comes by on Thursdays or Fridays to pick up some flowers.

Hitoka flees from behind the counter to go and accost the woman with help, Yahaba still smiling dangerously at her.

She hopes by the time Amano-san has picked out the flowers she wants this week, the shop will be a little bit more filled with customers, saving her from Yahaba’s clutches.

It’s about three pm; the shop usually starts to fill up a little bit around that time. She usually doesn’t like it when the shop is full and bustling, since too many people make her anxious. Today she wants nothing more than for the shop to be filled to the brim with customers who need her help.

The shop does, in fact, slowly fill with customers, enough to keep Yahaba from questioning her some more, which Hitoka is very thankful for. She likes Yahaba a lot more when he’s helping customers or whining about Kyoutani than when he’s teasing her. Still, she does consider him a good friend, despite his penchant for teasing and annoying her.

She keeps thinking about the woman from the previous day while she helps the customers; she wouldn’t consider her a crush, not when she doesn’t even _know_ anything about her. There is _something_ about her though, something that immediately caught Hitoka’s eyes and interest, and it’s not just her beauty. It is hard to put into words, but something about her aura, about the way she smiled shyly, about the way she held herself, made Hitoka feel like maybe, just maybe, this woman could be someone she could learn to not only cherish but _love_.

It is an absurd notion, even more so when she thinks about the fact that she might never see the woman again.

For all Hitoka knows the woman was visiting someone in the area and decided to pick up some flowers on the way. For all Hitoka knows this woman will never find herself in this part of town again, much less in Aone’s flower shop.

She desperately hopes she is going to see this woman again, as absurd as it is.

\--

It’s Friday, and Yahaba, luckily, doesn’t have a shift, leaving Hitoka alone with Aone in the flower shop. It’s nearing closing time; about twenty minutes more and then she can head home. Aone does the locking up on most days; all except for on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Aone only works mornings on Saturdays, and Tuesday nights are date nights, so his husband, Aone Kenji, usually picks him up around closing time, leaving Hitoka to lock up.

The two of them are unfairly adorable; Kenji is loud and brash and sometimes a little bit mean, the exact opposite of Aone, but he completely melts whenever he so much as looks at his husband. And Aone always makes sure he has an extra pretty bouquet on hand for date night, making it himself attentively with all the care in the world, picking only the prettiest of his flowers, every single one with a meaning he wants to convey.

It’s nearly sickening to watch; Hitoka thinks every time that she wants to have what they have, one day.

She’s enjoying her time behind the counter, watching the clock and the minutes go by, feeling honestly happy and at peace; she loves being in the shop in the evenings, especially during fall and winter, when it’s already dark outside. There is something peaceful about it that makes her feel relaxed and content. Sometimes enough so that she takes out her sketchbook and draws – a hobby that she had abandoned in school, feeling too stressed out, too pressured, because she had to be perfect at everything else already, and this was just another thing to add to the list. Especially with her mother always looming in the background, ready to strike at any moment and criticising her for doing things she wasn’t giving her all, wasn’t doing with the intention of perfecting.

Now, though, that she has abandoned the plans her mother had for her, and freed herself from that perfectionism a little bit, she has found she enjoys drawing again: here, in the serene atmosphere of the shop, she feels like it’s okay to do things simply to do them, without any intention of mastering them.

Here, without her mother watching her critically, she can simply enjoy things, do them for herself and nobody else.

She’s sketching the peonies in the display window when the bell above the door tinkles, announcing a customer.

She lays her pencil aside, looking up, and her breath catches. There, in the entrance of the flower shop, is the same woman from two days ago. She has her hair up in a ponytail, this time, and is wearing a beautiful floral dress under a thick woollen coat, her legs clad in beige tights that look warm and cosy, fluffy socks sticking out of her shoes. She looks warm, cuddly and comfortable. Hitoka feels the sudden urge to lean against her, which is definitely not an appropriate urge at all.

“Hi,” she says instead, proud to say her voice isn’t as shaky as last time, although it does sound a little breathless. Well, she dares any sapphic to look at this woman and not sound breathless. “Just browsing, like last time?”

“Exactly,” the woman says, sounding a little bit surprised that Hitoka remembers her. There’s a small blush covering her face, and Hitoka can do nothing more but stare.

It shouldn’t be allowed to be this pretty; she’s pretty sure it’s a public safety issue.

Hitoka watches the woman while she browses, her sketchbook laying abandoned on the counter; watches her as she delicately touches some of the flowers, looking through them, careful as to not bump against anything. She moves gracefully and cautiously. Hitoka is completely mesmerized by her. She wishes she knew her name.

Ultimately, the woman settles on a small arrangement of beautiful blue forget-me-not, taking them up to the counter. Once again, there is animal hair all over her. It’s endearing, only enhancing her charm.

Hitoka forces herself out of her mesmerized staring and into her customer-service mode, although it’s hard to switch into said mode with this woman in front of her. Especially at this time of day, both of them being alone in the front of the shop: reality feels suspended, like this, as if they were in a dream.

Someone as beautiful as this woman belongs in a dream, perhaps, not Hitoka’s reality.

The woman pays with her card, this time, and Hitoka finally learns her name: Shimizu Kiyoko. It’s equally as pretty as she is, Hitoka thinks. It fits her: Shimizu Kiyoko.

Hitoka watches her leave again, staring after her, this time more hopeful that she is going to return than Hitoka was last time. She thinks about the animal hair on Shimizu’s clothes, and that she once again did not manage to say anything more to her than her standard customer service phrases, in the face of Shimizu’s charm and beauty.

_Next time_ , she thinks, promising herself to actually start a conversation; to get to know this beautiful woman with the soft, quiet voice and animal hair on her clothes.

\--

The next time Shimizu comes in is the next Wednesday. It’s only been five days, and still Hitoka had been getting anxious, scared that she might not see her again after all.

Shimizu comes in shortly before closing time, like she did the last time she came in. Hitoka is both excited and frightened to see her again. Excited because she hasn’t stopped thinking about her since last Friday, frightened because Yahaba is doing this shift with her, currently whining about Kyoutani looking like an absolute asshole, by which he means that he wants to take him out on a date and have his children.

She greets Shimizu with a “Hi! Just browsing again?” the same as she did last time, and Shimizu nods and blushes again.

Hitoka can do nothing more but be enchanted by the faint blush colouring Shimizu’s cheeks, the same way she is every time, and Yahaba, who’s stopped his whining as soon as Shimizu has come through the door, picks right up on it.

“Don’t tell me—” he starts with raised eyebrows, looking way too interested.

“Not now,” Hitoka says, a little panicked.

“Sure,” Yahaba says, but the look on his face tells Hitoka very clearly that they’re going to talk about this later. She thinks she possibly needs to tease him about Kyoutani more—maybe that would make him stop. In all probability, though, she’d just be digging her own grave.

She tries not to watch Shimizu, as to not give Yahaba more ammunition, and fails terribly.

In her defence, Shimizu is looking unfairly cute; her hair is hidden under a knit-cap and she’s wearing an oversized pullover, a thick burgundy red one that looks hand-knit, much like the cap does.

A fact that not many people know about Hitoka is that she can actually knit, has learned how to knit from her grandmother when she was a little girl, although she hasn’t knitted much more than a few stray socks in the past few years. Looking at Shimizu, she suddenly feels the urge to take knitting up properly again, knit her a whole array of different pullovers and socks and caps and mittens.

She tries to shake the thought, but doesn’t succeed entirely. She has the terrible feeling that Shimizu is only going to get more adorable as winter draws even closer and the days get colder; the temperatures have been pretty mild so far, but they’ve been said to sink considerably over the next weeks.

Hitoka is not sure how he’s supposed to be able to deal with this. She feels distinctly too gay for it.

Shimizu picks another small flower arrangement: peonies, this time. They’re bright and orange, befitting the very last few days of autumn, even though they’re not in season at the moment, being notorious for blooming in May. Aone, with his unfairly green thumb, of course managed to grow some in their greenhouse anyway.

Shimizu looks good with the peonies in hand, Hitoka thinks, them and her burgundy knit sweater giving her an autumnal glow. Hitoka feels overcome with the need to photograph her, capture her beauty. She also feels like it’s probably impossible to catch Shimizu’s beauty on tape, it defying all measures of solidifying it onto paper. Shimizu’s too vibrant to be captured on a photograph.

Hitoka has never been good at photography, anyway.

She doesn’t manage to talk to Shimizu, once again. She does, however, once more notice the animal hair on her pullover. It’s black, this time, as opposed to the last two times, and Hitoka wonders if Shimizu has several pets. She wishes she’d feel comfortable enough to ask her, but she’s still shy and anxious around Shimizu, feeling incapable of forming basic sentences that aren’t well-oiled routines.

She watches Shimizu leave wistfully, watches her walk gracefully out of the shop, one hand holding onto her small flower arrangement, backpack slung over her back, and wonders, kind of desperately, who exactly she is, what all the little details that make her up as a person are. She wishes she knew, wants nothing more than to _know_ this person, or even to simply _learn_ to know her. But for all that she promises herself she’ll strike up a conversation with Shimizu every time she comes into the flower shop, Hitoka is still at least one conversation short of even starting to get to know her.

“So,” Yahaba says, ripping her out of her thoughts, and Hitoka startles something fierce. She looks at him, and hopes he isn’t going to question her about Shimizu.

“That’s your crush, huh?” he says, destroying her hopes, just like she feared he would. She anticipated this conversation the moment Shimizu walked into _Bloom_ today, and yet she still feels decidedly unprepared for it. “Crushing on the poor customers?”

“You’re crushing on the poor guy who works at the shelter where you adopted your dog,” Hitoka points out.

“Not a crush, I think he’s an asshole,” Yahaba says.

“You said you think he’s soft underneath his grumbly exterior just the other day.”

“Because he’s always so sweet with the dogs—you know what, not the point.”

Hitoka sighs. One to zero for Yahaba, then. So much for her hopes of changing the topic of conversation to Kyoutani.

“She’s pretty, I’ll give you that,” Yahaba says.

“ _Pretty_?” Hitoka asks, a little offended. “She’s not pretty, she’s gorgeous. Breathtaking. Ethereal. Out of this _world_.”

Yahaba rolls his eyes at her, but doesn’t disagree. “Do you know anything about her besides the way she looks?” he asks.

“I know her name,” Hitoka says. “And that she probably owns a cat or dog. And that she has a really pretty smile.” Yahaba looks at her, as if waiting for more, but Hitoka has nothing else to offer. She wishes he knew more, herself.

“So basically nothing,” Yahaba says, sounding unfairly cheerful. Hitoka sighs. “I hereby revoke your teasing allowance, since clearly, you’ve got it worse, out of the two of us.”

“I had a teasing allowance?”

“No.”

Hitoka sighs again.

“You should try actually talking to her, the next time she comes in,” Yahaba says.

“Maybe,” Hitoka says. She knows she should. She wants to. It’s just—Shimizu is so pretty that Hitoka feels incapable of actually doing it, every time Shimizu is in front of her. It’s hard, being confronted with this amount of beauty.

“Definitely,” Yahaba says.

Hitoka looks at him. Then, suddenly spurred on, she says: “How about this: I try to talk to Shimizu, and you try to talk to Kyoutani. Properly talk to him, not insult him.”

“I don’t want to talk to Kyoutani,” Yahaba says. He’s blushing.

Hitoka raises her eyebrows at him.

“Okay, fine,” he growls. “Deal.”

Hitoka smiles. One good deed every day, she tells herself. And getting Yahaba to do something about his blaringly obvious crush is definitely a good deed.

Now all she has to do is talk to Shimizu. Properly.

Well.

\--

The season officially changes to winter, that weekend, and although they had put up most of their winter decorations already, they spend a good chunk of the Sunday afternoon making sure the space truly screams winter, hanging up Aone’s favourite glass snowflake ornaments, changing the colour scheme of their display flowers for the following week.

Hitoka loves seeing the shop transform with the seasons, every single time.

\--

The next time Shimizu comes in, Hitoka is prepared.

By which she means she has spent the past few days staying up too late, thinking about Shimizu instead of sleeping, and also made herself little flash cards with things she could say to Shimizu, questions she could ask her that would sound friendly instead of desperate.

It feels a little bit pathetic. It’s been years since Hitoka was this into someone, and she doesn’t even _know_ Shimizu. Just knows that she seems sweet and seems to like animals and has the voice of an angel and looks like a goddess.

She tries not to think about any of that, but instead about the little flash cards in her coat pocket. She has memorised all of them.

Shimizu steps up to the counter, looking as beautiful as always. Her dark hair rests in a braid on her shoulder; there is once again animal hair on her fluffy-looking coat.

Hitoka feels light-headed from the prospect of actually trying to _talk_ to her.

Still, as she takes Shimizu’s arrangement, she steals herself, and then says, aiming for conversationally with her tone of voice: “You always have animal hair on you, I’ve noticed. Do you have pets?”

Her voice might not be shaking, but her hands are, just the tiniest bit, as she lovingly wraps the flower arrangement Shimizu has chosen.

Shimizu blushes, then, and ducks her head a little.

“Ah, I wish,” she says, her voice as beautiful and clear as always. “I want a cat, actually, but my flat doesn’t allow pets.”

“Oh,” Hitoka says, flooding with warmth and fondness. “Me too, actually. I love cats. But I can’t own one.”

Shimizu looks up at Hitoka again and smiles—a beautiful, blinding thing that nearly knocks Hitoka off her feet. She wasn’t prepared for this, at all, and she gulps, can do nothing more but stare, for a moment.

“I go to the animal shelter down the street a few times a week,” Shimizu says, her voice soft. “I read to the cats, they like that. Sometimes they like to cuddle with me. Hence the animal hair.”

“Oh,” Hitoka says, a little breathless. “That’s so nice!”

“It’s how I found this flower shop,” Shimizu says.

Hitoka is still staring at her. Shimizu is so nice, and she also loves cats, and she goes to the animal shelter to _read to them_ several times a week, and Hitoka is pretty sure she has found the perfect woman.

“I love cats _so much_ ,” she says, feeling a little bit nonsensical about it, but Shimizu just beams at her.

“Yes! I have a few favourites in the shelter that I wish I could adopt,” she says, a wistful look in her eyes.

“Oh?” Hitoka says. “Tell me about them. If you have the time.” Her heart is nearly beating out of her chest.

Shimizu smiles at her. “If it’s not a bother,” she says. Her eyes are shining.

\--

When Hitoka gets home that evening, she lies down on her bed for a while, just staring at the ceiling.

She thinks about Shimizu, and her cute smile, and how earnestly her eyes had shone while she was talking about her favourite cats, Spots and Leaf.

There are butterflies in her stomach courtesy of these thoughts alone.

Hitoka feels entirely out of her depth.

She is so, so smitten already, and suddenly, talking to Shimizu feels like a horrible idea: because if she wasn’t falling for her before, she surely is doing it now, and falling for a woman who is most probably straight, entirely out of Hitoka’s league, and one of her _customers_ , seems like a horrible idea.

Maybe she should have talked more to Aone about this, not Yahaba; as opposed to Yahaba, Aone actually _is_ in a fulfilled relationship. He’s _married_ , even.

He may not talk much, but he almost certainly would have given her the better advice.

\--

The next time Shimizu comes in, she shyly gets out her phone and shows Hitoka pictures of Spots and Leaf.

Hitoka almost wants to fall to her knees and ask Shimizu for her hand in marriage right then and there.

She manages to contain herself, but she feels a _lot_.

\--

Talking to Shimizu becomes a regular occurrence, after that; they mostly talk about cats: the cats at the animal shelter, and what kind of cat breeds they like, and how much they’d both like to own a cat.

Talking to Shimizu feels natural, in a way Hitoka didn’t expect at all; she’s always had problems around strangers, been shy and anxious, but while she is shy around Shimizu because Shimizu is absolutely _breathtaking_ , she also finds it is easy and enjoyable to hold a conversation with her. Talking to Shimizu makes her feel comfortable in a way few people ever have. It’s a heady feeling.

She looks forward to the evenings, in the hopes of Shimizu stopping by, waiting for her every day; she is more than happy that Shimizu usually stops by at a time where there aren’t many customers in the shop, allowing for Hitoka to chat with her for a while.

It becomes part of Hitoka’s life quickly, more quickly than she would have expected: a part she’d loathe to miss, after just a short while.

She also realises that the more she talks to Shimizu, the more endearing she finds her.

At this point, calling her feelings a ‘crush’ would not do them justice anymore.

\--

“I hate him,” are the first words out of Yahaba’s mouth when he enters _Bloom_ in a swirl of gay despair.

“Kyoutani?” Hitoka asks. While she has been talking to Shimizu regularly, Yahaba has still not managed even one conversation with Kyoutani in which he hasn’t insulted him. It’s fair to say things aren’t looking as well on _his_ front.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Yahaba says, with feeling, and dramatically slumps against the counter.

“What has he done?” Hitoka asks.

“Let a cat rip open his shirt,” Yahaba answers. “He’s _not allowed_ to have a six pack. _Why_ does he have firm pecs and abs?”

Hitoka has to suppress a laugh. Instead, she pityingly pats Yahaba’s shoulder.

“I hate him,” Yahaba repeats.

“Maybe you should just talk to him,” Hitoka says.

“I also hate you,” Yahaba informs her. “Just so you know, him being attractive does _not_ mean I can stand him.”

Hitoka sighs. It’s like this every time; every time Kyoutani does something Yahaba finds particularly attractive, he regresses to talking about what an asshole he is. It’s a self-defence mechanism, Hitoka is fairly sure; still, she thinks Yahaba would fare a lot better if he could just let go of that and admit that he is really, _really_ into Kyoutani.

“Maybe next time he’ll be clothed and you can talk to him,” she says, and has to work hard not to duck away under Yahaba’s scathing gaze.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Yahaba says again. He sounds a little bit defeated, in a frustrated sort of way.

The worst thing is that Hitoka has _met_ Kyoutani that one time and is pretty sure he’s just as into Yahaba as Yahaba is into him. Not that Yahaba wants to hear any of that.

\--

“I always thought I’d get a Siamese,” Shimizu says, smiling prettily. “They’re so intelligent and active and elegant. And loud. I actually like that, when my cats talk to me.”

Hitoka nods, and imagines Shimizu with a pretty Siamese on her lap. She immediately stops picturing it; it’s too much—Shimizu _and_ a gorgeous cat? Hitoka’s sanity can only take so much.

“But, well, now—Spots is obviously a Sphynx, and we think Leaf is a Persian mix, although we’re not entirely sure. Doesn’t really matter, since my flat doesn’t allow cats, but—” Shimizu stops, then, and just looks sad.

“I’m sure you’ll find a flat that allows cats eventually,” Hitoka tells her, hoping it’s true. She’s completely certain that Shimizu would be the perfect cat mother, giving Leaf and Spots a wonderful home, and she wants Shimizu to _have_ that opportunity; wants to see the smile on Shimizu’s face when talking about her cats; not just cats she visits at the shelter, but _hers._ She thinks Shimizu more than deserves it.

“Maybe,” Shimizu says. “I can’t really afford a more expensive one alone, though, not at the moment. And everything in my financial range—” She shrugs sadly.

“I know what you mean,” Hitoka says. As much as she loves working at _Bloom_ —and she loves it, dearly, wouldn’t change it for anything in the world—it doesn’t exactly pay amazingly. It pays enough, sure, for her to afford her little flat, and all the necessities, and new stationary once in a while; for her to even indulge in tea before work, from the little coffee shop across the road, every now and then. But it doesn’t exactly pay well enough for a big flat that allows pets, or grand spending dreams.

Hitoka is fine with that, she genuinely is, but sometimes, when she lays on her bed, looking at the ceiling, she wishes she had a cat; someone to cuddle; someone to _come home_ to.

She looks at Shimizu, and unbiddenly thinks _we could look for a flat together, I’m sure we could find something_ , and then reminds herself that Shimizu, in all probability, wouldn’t even go on a single date with Hitoka, much less _move in with her_.

Hitoka blames the thought coming up on the first place on her inner useless lesbian, and focuses instead on the conversation at hand.

\--

Winter slowly turns into spring, and with the season the flower arrangements change, as do the decorations put up in _Bloom_ ; lovingly, Hitoka, Yahaba and Aone take down Aone’s two favourite paintings of snowy landscapes and the little snowflake ornaments he’s hung up and instead put up more flowers.

The shop blooms up much like the environment, much like its name promises.

With it, Hitoka’s and Shimizu’s chats slowly bloom into a friendship.

\--

Hitoka is standing behind the counter, chatting with Yahaba who is leaning against it, when Kyoutani walks into the shop.

His mouth is set, his shoulders are squared, and his brows are drawn together. He stomps towards the counter, and Yahaba and Hitoka both straighten up immediately.

“Wh-what did you do!” Hitoka stammers at Yahaba.

“Nothing!” he hisses back, looking both confused, annoyed, and like he’d love to jump Kyoutani’s bones. It’s always a healthy mix with him.

Kyoutani comes to stand at the counter and puts his hands onto it with a loud smack.

Then, he stares at Yahaba. Yahaba stares back.

“ _You_ ,” Kyoutani says. And then, much quieter, his voice shaking: “Go out with me.” His face colours an impressive shade of red.

Yahaba sputters. “I – _what_?” he says.

“I’m not repeating it,” Kyoutani says through clenched teeth. He looks so anxious behind his put-up anger that Hitoka wants to wrap him in a blanket and offer him hot chocolate.

“Did you just ask me to go out with you?” Yahaba asks, disbelief clear in his voice.

Hitoka is not a particularly loud or violent person; in fact, she is usually described as heartbreakingly anxious and overwhelmingly quiet.

In this moment, she wants to scream at Yahaba to just say _yes_.

“You _really_ don’t have to mock me,” Kyoutani says, anger back in his voice but also something _achingly_ sad, turns on his heels and leaves the shop. The door closes behind him with a bang.

Yahaba is staring.

Hitoka wants to tell him that he’s an idiot, but he seems to realise it himself in that moment, says a heartfelt “ _Fuck_ ” and runs out of the shop.

Hitoka clocks in his break for him, although she’s sure Aone would understand the circumstances; she hopes Yahaba can get the right words out, in a nice tone of voice, now, when it matters.

Yahaba comes back half an hour later, his face red and his hair dishevelled.

There’s a big, dumb grin on his face, and his eyes are sparkling.

“Time to step up your game,” he tells Hitoka, his voice unbearably smug.

“Time to clock out from your break,” Hitoka tells him and hands him the sheet. She’s smiling, and feels warm and happy for Yahaba.

\--

If Hitoka thought Yahaba was nosy and unbearable before getting into a relationship, he certainly worsens after getting together with Kyoutani.

Perhaps because Kyoutani knows Shimizu, because he works at the animal shelter she volunteers at, and Yahaba therefore has even _more_ ammunition, now; perhaps because now that he’s in a relationship, Hitoka has no ammunition against _him_ anymore; or perhaps just because that’s how he is.

Nevertheless, Yahaba starts pestering her about her crush—well, her full-fledged feelings, if she’s being honest—any chance he gets. He’s nearly unbearable about it, and the fact that Hitoka herself actually would like to resolve the situation, because she likes Shimizu _so much_ and the way her heart nearly beats out of her chest every time she sees her is entirely overwhelming, certainly isn’t helping.

\--

Hitoka comes up with a plan.

Or rather: Yahaba pesters her until she decides she should come up with a plan, then she spends an entire week unable to get enough sleep because she lies awake at night thinking about it, and then she goes to see Aone and get his wisdom.

Aone is sweet and gentle, because he always is, and he doesn’t have advice for her, except to go with her heart, and his big hands softly caress the flowers he’s tending to in the back room.

Hitoka watches him, this gentle man who has carved a place for himself in her heart, this gentle man who is more her friend than boss, watches him carefully stroke a rose’s petals, smiling at it, perhaps thinking about flower bouquets he could make for his husband or perhaps just being his soft self, enamoured by a flower that is blooming beautifully under his care, and suddenly she knows.

She looks at Aone, and at the flowers, and she _knows_ , and so she comes up with a plan.

Hitoka’s plan is simple. She is going to make a bouquet for Shimizu, one with meaning.

Shimizu usually comes in and buys flower arrangements; a bouquet made by Hitoka specifically for her would be outside of their usual routine, enough so that Shimizu might make the effort to think about it, to check if the flowers mean anything.

Hitoka could also put a little card on it with the flower meanings; she’s not sure if that would be too forward, but it certainly would make it easier for Shimizu, particularly considering that there are many different guides to flower meanings online, some of them conflicting in their analysis of flower meanings, and for someone who does not work with flowers and has never read into the topic before it can be quite confusing to figure out what a flower is actually supposed to say.

Then again, if Hitoka were to put a card with the meanings on the flowers, she would be putting all her cards out in the open, would be splaying herself open for Shimizu to see, to perceive, to dissect; would be losing all plausible deniability she could retain in any other case.

It’s a terrifying thought.

At least Hitoka has a plan, though, a simple one, and the only thing left to work out are the finer details.

The finer details, such as which flowers she actually wants to put into the bouquet, and for when she wants to prepare it, because Shimizu doesn’t have a set schedule she always adheres to. There are days she usually shows up on, but none of it is set in stone, and it tends to vary a little bit from week to week.

So Hitoka has got some planning to do.

\--

Hitoka finally settles on three different types of flowers; first, carnations—they are considered a symbol of love in both Japan and globally, so Hitoka figures she cannot go wrong with them. She goes with white carnations; they stand for purity and luck. While carnations in general symbolise love, white carnations in particular symbolise a pure and true love. On top of that, they will make a beautiful flower in the bouquet she has thought up; they look pretty, in her opinion; sweet and delicate—not as sweet and delicate as Shimizu herself is, but then again, it would be hard to find a flower to mirror Shimizu’s beauty. Hitoka does not think there is a single blooming thing on earth as breathtaking as Shimizu.

Part of her bouquet are also some sprigs of lavender; lavender symbolises faithfulness in Japanese flower language, and Hitoka loves the way it looks and smells.

And then, the centre of her bouquet: Sakurasou, Siebold primroses. They are soft and pretty, with their purple petals, and perhaps one of the most iconic flowers in Japanese flower language, symbolising desire and long-lasting love.

It is a bouquet meant to lay Hitoka wide open, and lay her wide open it will: the sincerity of her feelings on full display. There is no way to downplay these flowers and their meanings, no way to interpret them as anything other than a symbol of deep romantic feelings, and it is terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

\--

Hitoka settles on preparing the bouquet on a Wednesday morning. Shimizu usually comes in on Wednesdays; she has told Hitoka once that she tries to visit the animal shelter every Wednesday, because it’s the day that she has the most time in the afternoon to read for the cats.

She usually comes in after visiting the cats, so preparing the bouquet on a Wednesday feels like a safe call.

Hitoka’s hands are shaking while she lovingly puts it together; it is not helping that Yahaba and Saeko are both watching her with hawk eyes. Yahaba is not on shift today, but he said “I _have_ to see this” in an absolutely gleeful tone of voice when Hitoka told him about her plans—which immediately made her regret having told him at all, of course, but by then it was too late.

Saeko _is_ on shift today, and currently has no flowers to deliver in a speed that Hitoka is pretty sure nobody should drive a car at, so she is leaning against the counter, telling Hitoka about her girlfriends, and how they first started dating.

It’s a story that involves motorcycles and a lot of making out. Saeko has told her before, but Hitoka always has a hard time following it. She thinks she has the basics down: Miwa is a hair stylist, Alisa is a model, and Saeko bumped into them during a photoshoot because she was delivering flowers to someone and then decided she _had_ to date them, but everything after that is a little blurry.

It did end up with Saeko having not one, but two loving girlfriends, though, so whatever it is that exactly happened, it worked out for them.

Saeko and both her girlfriends are stunning in a way that always leaves Hitoka little breathless, so Hitoka is guessing that some people were just born to be lucky.

Hitoka herself was born to be anxious at any given moment, she sometimes thinks; but she has also gotten over her anxiety a little since working at _Bloom_ , and even though Saeko is intimidating and Yahaba can be a pain, she knows that both of them, not only Aone, have a lot to do with her finding her footing.

It’s nice to know that she has a support system to fall back on, and she didn’t necessarily think she’d find it in her co-workers in a small flower shop, but sometimes life happens in a way you did not plan at all, and _Bloom_ is exactly that: life happening, and giving Hitoka exactly what she needed, which was not the well-paid high-stakes job her mother envisioned for her, but an opportunity to be herself, and just enjoy the things she wants to, simply _because_ , and a group of friends that could not be more different, who are still the best people she knows.

The prospect of confessing to Shimizu is still terrifying, overwhelmingly so, but the knowledge that no matter what happens, life will go on and she is going to be happy in it, this life that she’s made for herself, does help.

Slowly, painstakingly, in her neatest handwriting, she takes out a small cream-coloured card and writes on it:

White carnations – pure and true love

Lavender – faithfulness

Sakurasou – long-lasting love and desire

\--

Shimizu shows up that afternoon, looking nothing short of ethereal, the way she always does; she’s wearing a cream-coloured sweater dress, her hair braided prettily, and Hitoka can do nothing but swoon.

Shimizu is always breathtaking; she could show up in stained sweatpants with toothpaste on her chin and Hitoka would still feel like swooning, but today her sweater dress is soft and her hair is so beautifully braided, and it only enhances her natural beauty more.

Hitoka can feel her hands shaking a little bit behind the counter.

Yahaba is watching gleefully.

“Hi, Yachi,” Shimizu says, softly, a small smile on her face, the way she usually does, and Hitoka tries not to blush to the tips of her ears, just because Shimizu is pretty and close and her tone of voice is so familiar and Hitoka has a bouquet with her name on it—it’s all a bit much.

“Shimizu-san,” she says, somehow gets it out without stuttering, “nice to see you.” It takes all her confidence, despite the fact that they have been talking for weeks, now, to add: “I love your braids.”

Shimizu blushes prettily, and Hitoka’s knees go a little weak.

“Asahi did them during uni today,” she says, smiling shyly.

“They look really pretty,” Hitoka tells her, smiling back. Shimizu has mentioned Asahi before; a friend she knows back from her school days, who apparently is the softest person Shimizu knows. Hitoka knows nothing about Asahi except for the fact that Shimizu feels safe around him, that he has a very lively boyfriend, and now this: that he is good at braiding hair.

Hitoka likes collecting these snippets about Shimizu’s friends, Shimizu’s life; likes feeling like she could be part of it, maybe.

She remembers the bouquet and her hands start sweating.

“Thank you,” Shimizu says, “I’ll tell him, he’ll be happy to hear it.”

She looks so soft and pretty and beautiful, and Hitoka feels like an imposter, trying to confess to this gorgeous woman; who is she, to think she could ever be worth Shimizu’s attention or time? It feels impossible, suddenly.

Still, she made the bouquet, and so she takes a deep breath and says: “Before you start perusing the flowers, I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh?” Shimizu makes curiously, her eyes wide and so, so beautiful.

Hitoka nods shakily, and then goes to the back room to get the bouquet she has stored in a vase there, as to let it soak up more water, getting it out carefully and wrapping it softly.

Aone smiles at her and gives her a thumbs up. Hitoka’s stomach does nervous somersaults.

She takes the bouquet to the front of the store with shaking hands.

Shimizu is still looking curiously and then, when she takes sight of the bouquet, her mouth falls open. She stares, a little.

Hitoka is _shaking_.

“This—this is for you,” she says, her voice shaking, too.

She hands Shimizu the bouquet. Shimizu looks at it wonderingly.

“For me?” she asks softly. There is something in her voice Hitoka can’t quite place, something very tender.

“I—yes,” Hitoka says. She wants to tell Shimizu that she made it herself, how much this bouquet means, and instead, all that comes out of her mouth is: “It’s—it’s a gift because you’re such a loyal customer.”

“Oh,” Shimizu says, and suddenly her voice sounds a lot more subdued. There is something sad, disappointed maybe, in her eyes, and Hitoka wants to take the words back, but she looks at Shimizu, at beautiful, breathtaking Shimizu, and can’t get herself to do it.

She is only herself, after all, only a small anxious bundle of a person working a badly paid job at the small local flower shop; who is she to confess to a goddess like Shimizu?

“Thank you so much, it’s beautiful,” Shimizu says, but her voice is still a little subdued. “I’ll—come back another day for my usual flower arrangement then, this will look just perfect in my apartment.” She smiles at Hitoka again, but there is something wrong about her smile, and then she leaves the shop, ‘thank you’ bouquet in hand.

The bouquet Hitoka spent so much time crafting.

The bouquet Hitoka handwrote a card for.

The card is still in the back room, where Hitoka left it, not daring to put it into the bouquet after all.

She watches Shimizu leave the shop, watches until she can’t see her anymore, and then she buries her face in her hands and sighs, loudly.

She can feel someone softly put a hand on her back.

“You’re the biggest idiot I know,” Yahaba says, but his voice is soft. “I’m getting Aone right now. And his donuts.”

Hitoka sighs again. Aone usually doesn’t share his donuts, because they’re gifts from his husband, who apparently bakes them himself for Aone in the evenings.

Yahaba thinking this is Aone’s donuts worthy just makes her feel like more of a failure.

Particularly because he’s right; she could really do with one of those donuts right now.

\--

Hitoka is not the one to lock up the store, because it _is_ Wednesday, and therefore Aone does it himself.

So all she gets are her backpack and her misery, when her shift ends.

She goes to the back room to wish Aone a good night, and thank him again; for softly rubbing her back for an hour, and for offering her both of the donuts his husband sent him to work with.

“Take care, little flower,” he says, hugging her softly.

His hugs are always very careful; his husband once told Hitoka with an absurd amount of love in his voice that apparently, he used to use so much of his body strength that he injured Kenji unwillingly several times.

Hitoka thinks that must have been very frustrating and hard for Aone. As a result, he is now the gentlest hugger she knows.

“Thank you,” she says, just sinking into the hug for a moment.

Then, she sighs and straightens up. Time to go home.

She leaves the flower shop feeling dejected by her own actions, but also beyond thankful for Aone and Yahaba, even Saeko, who stopped by in-between deliveries and handed Hitoka a hot chocolate.

She closes the door softly behind her, and then looks at the ground and lets out another sigh, before starting her trek home, still looking at the ground.

Which is why she doesn’t see the person she walks straight into.

“Oh Gods, I am _so_ sorry,” she sputters, absolutely horrified, before looking up—and looking straight at Shimizu, who is clutching the bouquet Hitoka gave her just a few hours earlier.

Hitoka just gapes, silently, for a moment, before she says, very slowly: “Shimizu-san?”

“I—hi,” Shimizu says, sounding very insecure.

“What are you doing here?” Hitoka asks. Her palms are sweaty.

“This isn’t a thank you bouquet, is it?” Shimizu says. Her voice is very quiet.

Hitoka’s heart starts beating very, very fast. Her throat chokes up, for a second. She takes a few deep breaths in and lets them out again, before she admits, just as quietly: “No. It was supposed to be a confession. But I got scared.”

“Oh, _thank God_ ,” Shimizu says fervently, before blushing an enticing shade of red.

“I—what?” Hitoka says, completely taken off guard. She’s not sure what reaction she was expecting, but this isn’t it.

“I went back to the animal shelter after getting the flowers,” Shimizu says quietly, “to talk to Kyoutani, because I needed to talk to someone and he’s—surprisingly gentle, underneath that gruff exterior.”

_I am well aware_ , Hitoka thinks, all her conversations with Yahaba flashing in her mind.

“I was—well, a little bit dejected, actually.” Her voice is getting quieter, and she is flushing an even deeper shade of red. “I told him that I needed to get over you, because I kept reading signs into your behaviour, and then the flowers today were the last straw, and, well.” Shimizu is steadfastly looking at the ground.

“You’re into me?” Hitoka asks, her voice shaking.

“Ridiculously so,” Shimizu admits. Then, softly, she adds: “Did you know that Kyoutani knows flower language? Without him, I would have probably just gone home and been sad for a while.”

“Kyoutani knows flower language?”

“He learned it for Yahaba,” Shimizu says, a little endeared smile on her face.

“Of course he did,” Hitoka says, and then: “Wait. You’re _into me_.” She probably sounds dazed. She feels pretty dazed.

“Yes,” Shimizu says. And then, insecurity back in her voice: “This means you’re into me too, right? I didn’t read this wrong?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Hitoka says, maybe a little too quickly. Then, softer, she repeats: “Yes.” Straightens up a bit, swallows, and finally says the words she has been too afraid to say, until now: “I think I fell a little bit in love with you the first time I saw you. And then, when we actually started talking, a little more. Or a lot more. With every conversation. I would kind of love to adopt at least two cats with you.”

Now she is the one blushing.

Shimizu laughs, openly, a beautiful, breathtaking sound. “Maybe we should wait with adopting cats, seeing as neither us is legally allowed to have pets in her flat,” she says. “But we could go on a date, maybe?”

“Yes,” Hitoka responds, before Shimizu has even finished her question, and then they both laugh.

“I would love that,” she says, looking at Shimizu, and Shimizu’s eyes are soft, a beautiful smile on her face.

“I have only one request,” Shimizu says.

“Anything,” Hitoka responds, before she can stop herself. She means it.

“Call me Kiyoko.”

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful mk made some breathtaking [art](https://twitter.com/lolmeurp/status/1369610589488570368?s=20) for this fic! <3
> 
> If you enjoyed this, I would be absolutely over the moon if you could leave me a comment! <3
> 
> Find me on twitter @shiwiwrites where I scream about all things anime and writing :)


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